


Death is a head-on-collision with your heart

by fixme_in_fortyfive



Series: Idea Pile [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Grim Reapers, M/M, Soul Punk Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixme_in_fortyfive/pseuds/fixme_in_fortyfive
Summary: Patrick is working on his first album Soul Punk when he meets a mysterious guy that turns out to be Death. When his time is up, can he bargain with Death for a little more time?





	Death is a head-on-collision with your heart

Patrick taps his feet to the beat pumping through his headphones, his fingers doing the same on the table as he listens intently on the music, even though listening to his own songs in public feels weird. He stops the track when he notices a hitch in the melody that just doesn't sound right, doesn’t sound smooth. A few quick taps on the keyboard and he's changing the composition into something he thinks might work better, tapping play again to repeat the song from the beginning.

Listening close to the upcoming part he just changed, he feels immediately better about it and saves the change before he changes his mind; again. This might be his favorite song on the whole album, although he rarely chooses favorites, because he’d never put a song out that he doesn’t love to bits. There's another part coming up that he knows needs tweaking, but before he can get to it a guy sits down at his table, interrupting Patrick’s concentration, his lips moving. Not that Patrick hears a word he’s saying with his headphones still on and the music playing.

“Sorry?” he says, pulling the headphones off without stopping the track.

“Have you ever thought about what you would do, if you’d die today?”

The guy grins at him, eyes wide with excitement. If this turns out be some pick-up line he’s got to give that guy credit for creativity, because Patrick has no idea where this could lead to.

“Excuse me?”

The guy leans towards Patrick, his arms resting on his knees as if he's about to tell Patrick some dark secret. He unwillingly leans forward as well, an icy chill running down his back.

“Most people don’t think about it, because, well, who wants to think about their own death, right? The result? Regret, I’ve seen it all, believe me,” he says, and sighs dramatically, brushing some invisible dust motes off his dark hoodie.

"Who are you?” Patrick ask, when finally, the guy shuts up and looks at him for an answer. As if Patrick has any idea what’s going on. The guy sounds crazy and somehow like he totally _is_ talking to dying people on the regular.

“Death.”

And that would explain why. Patrick is not sure he heard that right. He’s actually pretty sure he didn’t hear that right or maybe he just hopes he did. The more the guy says, the less sense he makes.

“Death?”

“Well, not the Death. There’s not one death. It’s more like a bunch of us everywhere. Like postmen. Way too much work for just one person.”

Patrick looks around the shop, but nobody is paying them any attention. _Maybe he lost his mind_ , Patrick thinks and isn’t sure whether he means himself or the guy. In any case, he should stop talking to the guy, like, right now. Patrick keeps an eye on him as he starts to pack up his laptop and headphones.

“You don’t believe me, that’s okay. Happens all the time.”

The guy digs through the pockets of his hoodie and pulls out a little black notebook, opening it seemingly on a random page. Patrick does not like this, not at all, and stops packing up his stuff to watch the guy.

“Patrick Martin Stump. Oh wait, you go by Patrick Vaughn Stump these days, right? Born April 27 in 1984. Good year, although 80s fashion was not easy on the eyes.”

The guy looks off into the distance before pulling his gaze back to his little notebook. Patrick is, quite frankly, shocked, listening to the guy rattling off facts about him. But still, the guy doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“Where was I? Oh yeah. 26 years old, cause of death-“

“How do you- is this a joke? Did someone put you up to this?”

The guy doesn’t even look up from his notebook.

“No,” he says, “cause of death… huh, you might wanna double check before crossing any streets.”

And that’s about all Patrick can take, he grabs the notebook from the guy, ready to rip the pages out, but when he looks at it, it’s just blank pages. There’s nothing written on it and he drops it like it burned his hands. This is ridiculous, he spend too much time already listening to that freak and his face heats up with anger and embarrassment. He grabs his stuff, not caring if it’s properly packed up or not and stands up from his chair, the sound of the chair screeching over the floor ringing in his ears. He pointedly doesn’t look at the guy as he walks past him and hurries to the door.

“You never answered my question,” the guy shouts after him, but Patrick ignores it.

 _And I won’t_ , Patrick thinks, leaving the shop, leaving the guy. When he turns back to take one last look at him, despite his better judgment, he’s not at their table anymore.

Patrick walks away from the shop in a hurry anyway, just in case that creep didn’t get the hint of him leaving.

~

Pete smiles to himself, watching Patrick leave the shop. That was fun, watching the shock and disbelief grow on Patrick’s face with everything he said. Sometimes that’s the only fun he has, it’s not like collecting the souls of the dying is such a fun job. He misses the times when people weren’t so skeptical. When death was something that people believed in – not some construct, but a tangible being. Back in those days his job was a lot more fun. He once had a lengthy debate with a christian priest about the afterlife and reincarnation.

He’s already looking forward to seeing Patrick again, although the circumstances will not be in his favor then. To be fair, Pete did warn him.

For now, he’s got other business to attend to though and in the blink of an eye the shop around him vanishes before turning into a quiet hospital room. Life support machines crowd the room, hooked up to an old woman lying in a bed in the middle of the room. Another woman, younger and fast asleep with her head on the side of the bed, holds her hand tightly even in sleep.

He doesn’t say anything, but the old woman notices him anyway, her smile weak and soft. She looks exhausted and Pete can feel her closer to him with every second that passes.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

They both whisper, afraid to wake the younger woman. Pete walks over to the bed and sits down on the mattress next to the old woman, taking her other hand in his own.

“Will it hurt?” she asks and Pete can feel her fear. It’s not unusual, when faced with death. Pete always makes sure to make it as easy as he can. Squeezing her hand, he shakes his head no.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a little idea that I may or may not have been obsesing over lately. I do want to continue this, but I'm not sure. If you like it (or not), please let me know in the comments below!


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